


The Rules of a Successful Fake Relationship

by distelhawk



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, I blame stormxpadme, a drabble got out of hand, clint's an ass, drunk Darcy, stupid clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 22:02:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distelhawk/pseuds/distelhawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hey, how are you?”</p><p>“I’m listening to a Darren Chris/Adele mashup and I’m drinking wine out of a carton, how do <i>you</i> think I’m doing?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rules of a Successful Fake Relationship

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StormXPadme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormXPadme/gifts), [WordsmithDee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordsmithDee/gifts).



> Ages ago, stormxpadme asked me on tumblr to do Clint/Darcy for a drabble/scenario meme thing. The first part on that list was "Fake Dating" and ... all in all, this got kind of out of hand. 
> 
> But I promised half my dash happy fic after the last two things I posted, so here you go ... and I am uncertain about this. I don't usually do fluff, am shit at fluff. But hey, everyone's gotta have a challenge, eh?
> 
> This was originally inspired when I stumbled over that lovely Darren Chris/Adele mash-up. What was it again? Skyfall and ... a song I cannot remember. Anyway. If you know what I mean, you know what I was listening to when I started writing this.

**The Rules of a Successful Fake Relationship**

 

“Hey, how are you?”

“I’m listening to a Darren Chris/Adele mashup and I’m drinking wine out of a carton, how do _you_ think I’m doing?”

Darcy gave Jane a cocky, if slightly off grin. The carton was more than half empty, the room around her comfortably fuzzy and her cheeks where probably finally dry, though her eyes probably still red. She counted all this as a win though.

“I’ll still happily send Thor after him you know, just say the word.”

Darcy snorted into her glass.

“And rob myself of the opportunity to do it all myself?”

Not to mention … it really wouldn’t be fair. It had been their deal, right? Her deal, really. She was the one who’d fucked up. “Also I think we’re both working for the good guys and that means leading by example and all that so who am I to fault the man for keeping by the rules of a deal I made him agree to in the first place?”

Darcy swung her arms wide, red sloshing everywhere, and Jane took the glass from her.

“Hey, mine!”

“I think you’ve had enough”, the older woman said, eyes and voice still sad.

“Oh, come on!” And up went the arms again. It was an oddly relieving gesture, Darcy found. “It’s really not his fault, Jane, and you shouldn’t act like he broke my heart when I full well …”

“Oh but he did!” This time it was Jane raising her voice and throwing up her arms. “Yes, you had a deal. Two weeks of your aunt visiting, pretend living together. But from what I remember that deal didn’t include _actually sleeping with you_. As in sex.”

"Thanks, I was there,” Darcy replied drily. “I do know what you meant by ‘sleeping with you’." Her air-quotes where sort of lopsided and she decided to screw it all and made a dive for her wine glass again. It was unsuccessful.

"Oh, that’s beside the point. He still did it. And he is not stupid. He’s an ass, but sadly a smartass and he knew what was going on. For days now I’ve seen you moping around here, trying to act as if you’re not heartbroken about the fact that your fake boyfriend went back to his so-not-fake life without so much as a goodbye hug so stop telling me he didn’t do anything wrong!”

Darcy blinked at Jane a couple of times before letting her head fall onto her arms with a groan.

“One”, she held up her hand, one finger out, mumbling against arms and tabletop. “Your voice can get really high, did you know that? Like … bird frequency high or something.”

“Two”, the next finger went up. “Do you not remember me telling you how I had to convince him three times that having sex with me was a must? That he tried to stop it each and every time? That he said it would screw us up? That I said I could handle it? Damn Natasha and making me want to proof that he definitely isn’t the best lay in the tower …”

“Yes, but still …”Jane started, before backpedaling. “Is he?”

Darcy waved her off.

“No buts, Jane. And he is. I love that you’re on my side here but really, this one is all on me. Or, well, 90% me, 10% his freaking archer arms. Seriously, with veins.”

For a moment, Jane seemed to think about whether to continue her argument or not, before she hugged Darcy, if a little awkwardly. She had the best heart, really did, but that woman was no hugger.

“Well, just … no more fake dating for you from now on, OK?”

“If I still had my glass, I’d toast to that, sister.”

……………….

“You’re an ass.”

“Tell me something I don’t know and _Do. Not. Drink. My beer_.”

“Why should I listen to you, you’re an ass.”

“Thanks, Nat, really. Exactly what I need right now.”

Instead of answering, Natasha just quirked her eyebrow at him and emptied his beer. Clint rolled his eyes and signaled the bartender to bring him two new ones.

“I told you years ago you don’t do sex without the rest. I do, but you don’t. You tried it with me, you tried it with Bobbi and now you tried it with her. Don’t you ever listen, Barton?” There was amusement laced in with her tone and it made him hate her just a little bit more.

“God, Natasha, would you just stop?” He made a beeline for the fresh bottle of beer in front of him once it was placed there, fighting the urge to lick both bottles to mark them as his own. Not that it would do him any good.

Putting the bottle back down, he looked at his partner while shaking his head. “And since when are you so interested in other people’s feelings … or, well, feelings in general.”

“No need to be mean, Barton”, she chided, clinking her bottle with his. “And since you asked – I am not interested in other people’s feelings. I’m interested in yours. As in, somehow along the line, I started caring about you and  after watching you run head-first into the fuckfest that was your marriage to Bobbi, I decided this time to share my wisdom with you … also I really don’t want to drag your sorry ass out of some Serbian prison again. You’re shit on missions when you’re thinking with your heart.” She looked pointedly at him. “Why can’t you be like a normal guy and think with your dick every once in a while?”

“From normal women, this would be a compliment … why doesn’t it sound like a compliment coming from you?”

“Because it wasn’t meant to be one.”

“Ah, right, because you’re not a normal woman.” His smirk was fake and so was hers.

“Normal enough for you for years, if I remember correctly.”

Clint shrugged, trying to hide a small, actual grin. “Aww, youthful indiscretions.”

They shared a small grin.

“Back to the topic at hand – you’re an ass.”

“I thought we’d already established that. Also, I happen to agree.”

“So? Do something about it.”

Clint gripped the neck of his bottle tightly, clenching his teeth.

“No.”

Again, Natasha rolled her eyes and he knew all the arguments. He made them to himself way too many times.

"Clint don’t tell me you …"

"No, Natasha. Just … no."

“And you knew this from the get-go, right?”

“What do you mean from the get-go?”

There was a stern trace to her voice now.

“From the moment you fell for everyone’s favorite intern, you knew you wouldn’t do anything about it.”

Clint grimaced a little, taking another sip of his beer.

“Clint…”

“Yes, fine. You happy now?”

He heard her sighing heavily.

“Well, in that case you’re not actually an ass. You’re a fucking bastard that really doesn’t deserve any support.” At that, Clint actually lifted a surprised eyebrow, looking up from where he’d fiddled with the wet paper on his bottle.

“Come again?”

She actually looked angry now, all the amusement gone from her face and he really hadn’t expected that. Natasha was on his side. She rolled her eyes and laughed at him but she was always on his side. This, however, didn’t look like being on his side.

“You heard me, and don’t give me any crap about your hearing getting bad. If you honestly don’t want to act on any of your feelings – don’t fucking deny it – then why the hell did you agree to do the fake boyfriend thing in the first place? WHY, by all that is mighty in fucked up Asgard, did you sleep with her only to run away with your dick tucked between your ass cheeks like a little bitch?”

Clint chewed on his cheek a moment, looking at Natasha, trying to decide if he was angry or not. He had no right to be angry, he knew. She made a valid point. Actually, less of a point and more like simply quoting the truth. Still, who was she to get involved in his mess like this? She was the emotionally unavailable one and if, for once in his life, he tried to spare everyone involved the _Barton Shitshow of Being a Loser Boyfriend_ , than that was nothing but growth on his part.

“Fuck off, Natasha.” he squeezed through his clenched teeth, going with being angry after all. Throwing money on the counter for their beers, he got up and walked out. He needed some air, or he’d end up saying things he’d regret.

“Since when does Clint Barton run away?” She was calling after him now, voice clearly irritated but less angry. “Oh, that’s right, practically all the time.”

He kept walking, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, collar up to shield him from the light rain and biting his cheek to keep from turning around.

“Don’t walk away from me Clint.” Her hand was on his shoulder now, gripping tight and before he knew it, they were fighting. Quick, and smooth, like their daily training sessions but more bite behind it, less pulling of punches (him), more actual glaring (her).

It felt sort of good, but only for a while. Clint knew he wasn’t really angry with her, and Natasha wasn’t really angry with him, either. She was showing support the only way she knew and he was crap at accepting it. Once he saw the opportunity, he let her pin him to the wall, arm against his windpipe.

For a moment, they just stood there catching their breaths.

“Even so, I fucked it up now anyway”, he conceded, spitting a bit of blood to the ground from where he’d bitten his cheek.

“You need to stop being chicken shit, Barton.” Natasha just shook her head. “You do this every time someone actually means something to you. Never thought you were a masochist.” She seemed to think for a moment while she stepped back.

“Also, let me tell you a little secret. If the guy really fucked up so bad it’s unfixable, women don’t spend hours drinking and crying. If it’s really over, it’s over and we move on.”

Clint swallowed. “Great, then I’ll fuck it up along the road and…”

There it was again, the sarcastic eyebrow. “… and you’re too old? You’re too much of an adrenalin junky? Too broken? Too dangerous? Please, don’t sell Darcy under worth. She knows all that and she still wants you. Don’t be a macho, let her make her own damn decisions, Barton.”

“Jesus, Nat, I hate you sometimes.”

She hooked her arm through his and laughed, short and throaty, while steering him back into the direction of the tower.

“I know, many people do.” She sounded nearly cheerful.

"And if this goes down the can, I’m blaming you, just so you know."

“You do that, hotshot,” Natasha hummed deep in her throat, satisfaction rolling off her in waves. Damn her.

Once they were back at the tower, he kissed the top of her head. 

“Thanks.”

She smiled, a real one.

“Anytime.”

…………….

You would think a tower build by the likes of Tony Stark would have excellent sound proofing. Considering Clint could hear loud music coming from Darcy’s apartment pretty much the moment he stepped off the elevator that did not seem to be the case.

Moments later though, he realized the door to her apartment was hanging wide open. Suppressing the slight angry nudge in his gut that nearly made him storm in there and lecture her, again, on the importance of security, he tentatively looked through the doorway, caught between hyper alertness that had him reaching for the small sidearm he had on him and fear of what she might do when she saw him.

He only knew that Darcy was very likely still up because he’d met Jane 2 floors down in the communal living room, hair a mess and yawning. Several dirty looks and fumbled explanations later, she had made a wave-y notion that he had taken to mean “Yeah, fine, you’re allowed through, she’s awake, leave now.”

So he had made his way up the two floors, intending to beg an audience.

What he ended up seeing, however, was not at all what he had expected.

It took him several moments to recognize the song playing as one from a kid’s movie he had probably once seen, possibly in the living room with her feet in his lap. It had had lions?

Darcy, though, was not confused. The first he glimpse of her he caught had her literally sliding into view. Wearing thick socks, Darcy slid across the polished wood floor of her apartment. She had a wine glass in hand and, for some odd reason, was wearing sun glasses.

Clint, after the first initial confusion, bit his lip with a slight shake of his head. It was pretty damn sad, really, the way his throat seemed a bit thick and how he felt like he could just watch her do her mad little dance forever.

 _Whipped_ , he heard a voice sounding suspiciously like Tony croon inside his own head.

It took Darcy nearly 2 rounds of stalking through her living room, pretty much acting out the song, to notice him. Something about being prepared and killing a king and Clint struggled, hard, to stay where he was leaning against her doorframe, arms crossed.

He rarely used the word cute, unless there were puppies involved and even then only when no one except Natasha was around. This though? He had his hands balled into fists simply to keep his fingers from taking on a life of their own, itching to be closer to her.

The clatter of sunglasses on wood alerted him to the fact that he had been made. Lip still caught between his teeth, he looked up at her eyes.

The playfulness from just moments ago was gone, replaced by a harsh struggle to appear at ease when Clint could see she was wound so tight she had trouble putting her glass down.

“Hey there, bird brain”, she chirped, hand shaking furiously as she finally sat the wine down on her living room table.

“Can I come inside?”

“Sure, why ever not, buddy of mine.”

If he didn’t know all this was his fault, it would have been nearly funny. As it was, he stepped into her space slowly, making sure to close the door behind him.

“What can I do for you at,” she glanced at her watch. “Holy shit, 2am in the morning.” She seemed a little dazed.

“Uhm, how drunk are you?”

He was still stuck somewhere between the hallway part and the actual living room, hands shoved in his pants’ pockets now. He wanted to do this, preferably now, but if there was a high chance of her either puking all over him or not remembering a thing the next morning … well, he didn’t get his rocks off of chicks that had no idea what was going on.

Now it was her turn to cross her arms over her chest, a coldness touching her eyes.

“Not nearly drunk enough, apparently, if you’re here to check up on poor little me.”

At least, Clint thought, she had dropped the overly-cheerful façade. Seemed like Natasha was right, he was a masochist. He’d prefer she was angry with him, yelling at him, than her pretending nothing was wrong. He deserved her anger, after all.

Running his hands over his face, he finally stepped into the room fully.

“Look, Darcy … can we talk?”

Suddenly, she seemed tired.

“God, Clint, whatever it is you came to say, can you just …” she waved her hand. “Because I’m actually really tired and I know you’re not a fan of … talking. About the important …. Well, you’re more of a runner if I remember but hey, that ass has to come from somewhere I guess. Actually, thinking about it, I wouldn’t mind seeing that ass of yours again, now, when you turn around and leave the way you came unless you get a fucking move on and spill.”

He could see more than hear her taking a really deep breath before she looked him straight in the eye, cold, chin pushed forward resolved.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again and Darcy sighed a breathy sort of laugh and turned away. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

That, more than anything, seemed to be the kick he needed. There was no real sadness in her eyes anymore, just resignation and he could feel it, could literally feel her closing up, putting whatever had started with them into a neat little box to file him away as yet another failed attempt.

“It wasn’t fake.” He pretty much blurted it out, hands out and having made two steps toward her without meaning to. He tried, desperately, to find her gaze. “Darcy, look at me, please.”

When she didn’t, he stepped forward even more until he was nearly next to her.

“It wasn’t fake, ok? I’m sorry. I was an ass and … you definitely don’t deserve an ass. But it wasn’t fake, none of it.”

He could see now, that she had her eyes closed, seemed to mumble something to herself and he got nearly irritated at that. Was she even listening to him? But before he could do or say something, she’d spun around and an accusing finger pointed right at him.

“Clinton. Francis. Barton.” Each name was accentuated with a jab of her small finger against his chest. “You absolute _ass_!”

She was about to jab him again, but he caught her hand in his.

“Yeah, I am. Natasha actually just kicked my ass because she agrees with you.” He tried to go for a charming grin, but she was still glaring at him.

“And what are we going to now?” She tried to sound snappish, but he could see a hopeful little smile playing around her lips.

“Well, I don’t know about you but I was hoping for something like this …”

He leaned down slowly, giving her plenty of time to pull away. But Darcy being Darcy got impatient halfway through what he had hoped would be an endearing gesture. Grabbing his jacket she muttered “Jesus, Barton, get a move on” and dragged him down, eager lips awaiting his.

He would have laughed, but he was preoccupied with finally kissing her again. She tasted like red wine and salt and a deeply earthy taste that he had no words for except that it was her and it shook him to the core.

Kissing her hungrily, tongue slipping along her bottom lip, he ran his hands into her hair. Darcy made a little whimpering sound in the back of her throat and opened her mouth.

And this was better. This was so much better. The last time, they had both been pretty drunk and every few seconds, he had shoved her off, trying to appear unaffected and arguing with her about how horrible an idea it was.

Now, though, he just kissed her. He kissed her deep, tongue gliding alongside hers. He kissed her lips, quick, little pecks while she pushed him to the couch. He kissed her throat when she had him on her back, marveling in the way her breath hitched when he flicked her earlobe.

Dimly, he noticed that the song now playing was the big ballad of the film. He leaned back down, clearing some space between them and looking at her with a quirked eyebrow.

“You planned this, didn’t you? Make our big reunion into some sort of Disney film?”

He got a whack to the chest for that comment, followed by an “How are you even thinking straight right now?” and he just grinned before reaching up and pulling her down to him once more.

“Honestly, sweetheart, I have no idea.”

**Author's Note:**

> I blame everything Lion King on WordsmithDee.


End file.
